Unfortunately this is not the new full-length we’ve been expecting from these Aussie Funeral Doomsters since 2009’s compelling The June Frost. We’ll have to wait just a bit longer for that, I suppose. This is a compilation of tracks from their split releases with Worship, Stabat Mater, and Stone Wings. It also features a re-recorded version of “Left Unspoken” from the Four Burials 4-way split (with Loss, Orthodox, and Otesanek) and a Thergothon cover. Call me a poser if you want to, I realize Thergothon is a major influence on nearly every Funeral Doom band, but I just don’t hear what’s so great about Stream from the Heavens. Maybe it’s because the album sounds like it was recorded using rubber bands and the radiator from an ‘85 Plymouth Reliant. Nevertheless, this is about Mournful Congregation, not Thergothon, just had to get that out of my system. Needless to say, I prefer their cover over the original by far. There are varying levels of production here that make for a slight distraction. These guys’ tunes are so apocalyptically slow that they require the attention span of Heimdall as it is. Still, when Funeral Doom fits the mood (which is a high percentage of the time in the Midwest) Mournful Congregation will do the job just about as well as anyone. The aforementioned upcoming release, The Book of Kings, is what I’m really anxious to sink my teeth into. If this new version of “Left Unspoken” is any indicator (the best song here, with easily the best production), it could be the defining moment of their legacy. But this adequate stopgap collection will have to do for now.

It’s astonishing how much we take this unholy Texan horde for granted. From their early days as a primitive Death Metal band to the mystical, occultist, Thrash-infused Black Metal we’ve come to know and worship, they are a quality staple whose legacy will forever be cemented in Hell’s hall of fame. What with their dizzying song structures, King Diamond wails, and lyrics of pure insanity. “Ninnihignizzu pazuzu tetragramaton chumbawamba kajagoogo!” Sixteen years later and I’m still trying to wrap my head around the meaning of “And Shineth Unto the Cold Cometh” from the legendary Third Storm of Cynthia LP. And to think, from the same soil that brought us mandatory incest, the death penalty for jaywalking, and W. We will miss them when they’re gone for sure, and hopefully that won’t be for many aeons as their recent output is among the finest of their two decade career. They are apparently running out of names for their releases, however. 2009’s Absu was a nearly flawless roller coaster of an album, now we have… Abzu? Just one letter changed? Unless it’s a reference to the popular Nigerian stomach exercise, I think it’s a weak title. It’s the only weak thing you’ll find here, though. Absu release the kind of timeless records that you just have to put your trust in. Put it in the stereo and just let it take effect. Great for the car, and needless to say great for killing pedestrians with your car. It may take some time, but the oddball shit they throw at you eventually becomes catchier than the HIV on one of Nikki Sixx’s syringes. Proscriptor’s Black Metal vocals are some of the best in the league and his drumming ain’t too shabby either. No particular song tends to stand out as of press time, save for maybe leadoff track “Earth Ripper,” with its bestial Black/Thrash feel and aforementioned King D shriekage. But rest assured, in a month’s time I’ll even be able to recite 14-minute epic, “A Song for Ea,” backwards. That’s just how Absu roll.

This album is actually a lot better than I expected it to be. That isn’t to disrespect the band or their ability, but when most of the reviews I’ve seen seem to center on how hot the reviewer thinks Doris Yeh (Chthonic’s bass player) is, I’m always skeptical. Yes, she is hot. But this isn’t a video, so unless you have a really good imagination (and you’re willing to fap to Black Metal), you have to judge this band on their songwriting skills. And these folks know how to kick some serious ass. Chthonic was always very similar to Cradle of Filth in terms of sound and style: atmospheric/symphonic Black Metal with a lot of soundtrack elements. Unlike Cradle of Filth, though, Chthonic doesn’t dwell on the Goth imagery, darkly romantic lyricism or high-pitched banshee wailing vocals. Takasago Army is a concept album surrounding the native Taiwanese soldiers that fought against the Americans as part of the Japanese Imperial Army during the last part of World War II, and ultimately met their demise in a final stand against Chiang Kai-shek’s invading army (when the nationalist Chinese invaded Taiwan/Formosa after being driven out of China by Mao Tse-tung). The Takasago Army had a fearsome reputation and their skills on the battlefield were so great that they won the respect and admiration of their Japanese commanders. That being said, the lyrics are about real horror and brutality, not fantasy shit. As part of the album’s inlay, you get the story of Wubus Bawan, a member of the Takasago Army. It made quite an interesting read as I listened to the album. In fact, I think for these songs to make sense, you have to read the story of Wabus Bawan first and then read the lyrics. While the music on Takasago Army is primarily guitar driven, the keyboards and the traditional Chinese instruments added a lot to this album’s depth, and provide a distinctly “Asian” feel. It had the same atmosphere and epic feeling as the soundtrack for Hero or House of Flying Daggers. For an album like this, the epic sound is pretty necessary. When you have a story about war, the aftermath of the war and then the ultimate demise of the soldiers in a final stand against a new invading army, you really can’t short-sell it without doing the story a serious injustice. I really couldn’t find anything that I’d deduct points over. The songs are well played, well written and the whole album is solid from beginning to end. Takasago Army is getting a lot of plays in my stereo.

Fuck my life, what a horrible year for Death Metal. David Vincent started rapping on Morbid Angel albums, Pestilence, Decapitated, and countless other scene pillars laid eggs, we lost legends and potential future legends, and the only review I’ve written in the 17 years I’ve been doing this that anyone gives a rat’s dick about is a tenth rate Sludge band using riffs Iron Monkey threw out in 1996 because they sounded too contrived. Now I have to deal with Mikael Akerfeldt sonically coping with his impotence. Before I start doing something I never wanted to do, I want to make two facts clear. First off, I think Akerfeldt has the best Death Metal vocals ever. At least in the studio, he has no equal. Second, my favorite Opeth album of all time is 2003’s Damnation, an album with no Death Metal vocals. Why bring up these two contradictory points? Because Heritage contains no Death Metal vocals, and while I do think it’s a little foolish to have a Bugatti Veyron that you only “drive slow on the driveway,” that’s not the reason I hate it. My friends warned me, “you won’t like the new Opeth, it’s total ’70s Prog.” So when I got it home, I threw it in the stereo and put it on “shuffle.” (You see, my trusty Sony boombox was previously owned by Aleister Crowley, so on a random shuffle it generally plays the best songs first.) “I Feel the Dark” was up first. My first thought - I didn’t realize how much Contemporary Christian music owes to the vocal presentation of “‘70s Prog.” No, the lyrics here are far from Christian, but turn on your local Jesus-fucking radio station and you’ll see a frightening similarity in vocal deliveries. Up next, “The Lines in My Hand.” Not really a suitable musical companion for the lines on my mirror. I guess I’m supposed to think it noble that the band used a series of orange peels and elongated paper clips to record this album, but the production isn’t the problem here, modern or not. The problem here is mind-numbing boredom. And amidst this musical sea of baby’s-ass softness, there is not a single moment of sadness or any other emotion for that matter. Try to make it through the excruciating 8 minutes of “Folklore” without your mind wandering once. You can’t do it. Sure there’s a lot of talent on display here (some of these drum patterns are downright insane), it is an Opeth record in that regard, but I’m a substance guy, and there isn’t a single track on Heritage that feels my pain. Overrated as they may be, I will always consider Opeth to be gods among men. I want Morningrise; My Arms, Your Hearse; Still Life; and Damnation right there among many others on my death bed. But Heritage is a career low for them. I would call it their Cold Lake, but “Cherry Orchards” and “Juices Like Wine” actually hit way harder than any of the drab swill found here.

Last year’s offering (II: The Reign of Darkness) from these UK bruisers saw the band shedding most of the Deathcore sound they started out with in favor of a more straightforward Death Metal stance. With this EP, all that is thrown to the wayside as the chugga-chugga breakdowns, stomping groove, and gang vocals return to the fray with a vengeance. This is perhaps even more Core than they were before. It’s not as though they ever really abandoned groove, but much of the technical proficiency has been stripped down to bareknuckle basement fury. These songs are decent. Heavy and catchy albeit seemingly thrown together with an undeniable dumbed-down-on-purpose vibe. I don’t want to complain too much, as these guys have the talent and the gusto to pull off just about any musical style they’d want to, I’d imagine, but consistency is quite a merit as well. It begs the question, are they changing styles to suit the critics? Is it due to the record labels involved? Death Metal for our Nuclear Blast full-lengths, Deathcore for this Siege of Amida stopgap EP? It ultimately comes down to, are they playing what’s in their hearts or just trying to score the biggest target audience? Maybe a severe case of ADD? It might just be the case that this EP is nothing more than throwaway tracks from previous recording sessions or maybe a collection of doctored up rejects from the drawing board trash can. This is exclusively available via digital download/iTunes, so in the purist hearts of (tangible) record collectors such as myself, this only exists in theory anyway. All this fuss about the fence-jumping could be over nothing. Or maybe they just wanted to accomplish what they have undoubtedly stirred up in the mind yours truly… now I am morbidly curious to hear what their next album will sound like.

I was equally as disappointed to learn that vocalist Matti Way (ex-Disgorge) was no longer in this band as I was pleasantly surprised discovering his replacement was none other than Jonathan Huber, the ex-frontman for granite-heavy Deathcore merchants I Declare War. He is a more than suitable replacement and that becomes evident from the get-go, as leadoff cut “Dissected by Righteousness” features vokills so ridiculously guttural they often resemble stomach farts. You know, when you hold a fart in too long and your stomach reacts with some kind of inverted, gaseous bubbling? I think George Carlin called it, “bor-bor-rig-me.” This Cali Death troupe have come a long way from their humble beginnings, as the music on their earliest releases sounded like stomach farts as well. Core founding members Dave Astor and Tim Tiszczenko write real riffs now and pretty damn good ones at that. With a new vocalist comes new lyrical focus, as the subject matter has switched from anti-religion, conspiracy theories, aliens and whatever the fuck Matti was talking about on Legacy of the Ancients, to a more environmentally aware, save-the-Earth, humanity-is-shit outlook via Huber. As if you could tell what either of these sick fuckers is saying anyway. This is a ferociously brutal album that proudly features actual songwriting skill and otherworldly guttural lung abuse. And that’s all it needs to be to get the job done.

Vader apparently is the new Death, as in each new album is basically Piotr Wiwczarek and a revolving cast of faceless hired guns. Has that affected the music? I think so. Not a great deal, as this Polish Death Metal legend has never put out a truly bad album, but if you think back to when they really hit their ass-kicking creative stride (for me that was 1997’s Black to the Blind and 2000’s Litany), there was that Peter/Mauser/Shambo/Doc (R.I.P.) lineup stability. That’s sadly gone now, and it recently dawned on me that may be the reason I don’t recall as much of Vader’s output over the last decade as I should (save for 2005’s outstanding The Art of War EP). This album is not much different than any of their full-lengths from 2002’s Revelations onward. Maybe a touch Thrashier with a bit more Slayer worship than of late, giving it a return-to-roots quality that lifts and separates, but not much in the memorability department. Of course when you’re in the process of listening to this album, it’s awesome. It’s heavy, it’s fast, it’s dynamic, good riffs, great drumming and Piotr’s unmistakable trademark vocals, it’s fucking Vader, man! The name alone warrants a 9. But nothing really sticks, and at 37 minutes it’s over too soon. Especially when you consider the morbidly paced closer, “Black Velvet and Skulls of Steel,” is probably the album’s standout cut. I heard that certain versions of this release contain two bonus tracks -Vibrators and Extreme Noise Terror covers- however, I unfortunately bought the Israeli version.

Holy fuck! I had read this was good, but I had no idea it was going to be my motherfucking album of the year. If the Cyclone Empire label isn’t an assured seal of the highest quality then I don’t know what is. Top shelf Death Metal bands on their roster aplenty, now they are cornering the Doom market as well. England’s 40 Watt Sun rose from the ashes of the band Warning, whom I have never heard before but you can bet your sweet ass I’ll be tracking down their entire back catalog after hearing this heartbroken masterpiece. As with all perfect things, the method here is beautiful simplicity. Slow, mesmerizing riffs enveloped in a guitar distortion heavier than King Kong’s ballbag. I was amazed to see this was a trio and that there was only one guitarist. Their entire practice space must be comprised of Marshall stacks instead of walls. Patrick Walker, the man behind the riffs, is also responsible for The Inside Room’s greatest treasure, his flawless clean singing and the heartfelt-to-the-point-of-tears lyrics he recites. It is truly an amazing accomplishment when a band writes a 10-minute song that feels like it’s over too soon, leaving the listener begging for more, wishing it was even longer. These guys open the album with two of them back-to-back. The mournful combo of “Restless” and “Open My Eyes” would be the pinnacle of some band’s entire careers. 40 Watt Sun achieve it with the first two songs of their debut album. I’m not at all ashamed to admit the latter did have me in tears. You see, he writes primarily about relationships. The pain, the joy, the vulnerability, the weakness, the longing, the loss, the desperation, and the separation. And Walker chooses his words all too well for me sometimes. How could they top leading off the album with these two monumental anthems of sorrow? With three more. As all smart bands do, they find a formula that works and then stick to it, never treading far from the comfort zone. Does that make for similar-sounding songs within the framework? Yes, thankfully it does. All the songs sound similarly awesome. The only real question is how they could ever possibly top this album. For the non-lifelover, the only thing I could recommend more would be suicide.

I realized I needed to make a couple of admissions during the time spent working on this review. First, Fowl was released in late 2010 on the German-based Denovali. The US release date for this sophomore album was supposed to be April 4th, 2011, but despite all my research I wasn’t able to figure out what label got the deal. Second, I hate the “artsy” sounding Post-Metal or worse, Post-Rock, genre tags. I’m old school and believe Industrial, as a category, is sufficient even if Metal or Rock elements are present. With that out of the way, I knew upon first hearing this Australian quartet that I had to review this album. “Dust” starts out with a hypnotic passage composed by a synth, simple bass line and soft drums. As you’re about to nod off, just before the 4 minute mark, the door of their full volume is flung open like that classic scene introducing Leatherface in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The calm is broken with a soaring vociferous riff, which would make most shoe-gaze (another tag I dislike) Black Metal bands jealous, and resounding drums. Heirs is completely instrumental and that’s their strength. The mood, alternating between tranquility and anxiety, is conveyed through their music, encompassing the broad spectrum of the Industrial genre. While comparisons could easily be made to Godflesh (check out “Tyrant”), Swans and Fetish 69, it’s evident they are creating their own identity. With a third album, Hunter, nearing completion, a homeland tour alongside Alcest coming up in October and booking for a third European tour, Heirs is destined for greatness.